


Let's Talk

by Drag0nst0rm



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:46:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25374112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: Either Costis was hallucinating, or his king had died and decided to haunt him.Both possibilities seem depressingly plausible.
Relationships: Eugenides & Costis Ormentiedes
Comments: 20
Kudos: 118





	Let's Talk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MegMarch1880](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MegMarch1880/gifts).



> Happy birthday MegMarch1880!

Costis had either hit his head harder than he thought and was suffering from hallucinations, or his king had quietly died on the pallet Costis was dragging and had decided to haunt him.

While the second option was terrifyingly plausible, he was hoping for the potential brain damage. 

“Don’t be so limiting,” the king chided brightly. “This isn’t really an either/or situation. I could be dead _and_ you could have brain damage.”

Costis glared at his king. This was less unusual than it should have been, though it did hurt more than normal since he had to twist the expression around his bruises. 

He could stop and check. He wanted to stop and check. 

But their pursuers were still out there somewhere, and he wasn’t sure he had the time. If there was something else he could do for the king, some additional aid he could offer, it would be different, but he had exhausted what little medical knowledge he had already.

And as long as he didn’t look back, the king was still theoretically alive. And as long as his king was alive, he could find the strength to keep moving.

That was important, as he needed all the strength he could get. Especially with the way the world insisted on spinning crazily around him.

It was fine. The trail through the olive trees was straight enough, if uncomfortably dusty, and it offered few opportunities for error. He had only bumped into a couple of tree trunks. Five at the outside. And none of them were very hard.

Not since the first one anyway, and that one hadn’t been his fault.

“You could hide me somewhere,” his king suggested. “Ride back with reinforcements.” He winced at the implication of horses. “Hopefully also with a cart.”

If he’d had any confidence in his ability to judge their lead on their pursuers or their distance from help, this might not have been a bad plan. Since he had no idea of either of those things, he wasn’t about to leave his king alone, especially since the olive grove wasn’t exactly abounding in suitable places to hide kings, even kings as unimposing as his was.

The king looked mildly offended after this last thought, which was a point in favor of him being a hallucination. He didn’t think ghosts could read minds. Unfortunately, this was also a point against Costis currently having the mental capacity to make plans - although, he realized a moment too late, if the king was dead, then it wouldn’t matter if Costis could make plans or not because there would be no point to them.

Probably. He had a sneaking suspicion his thoughts might have gone a little circular. Hopefully his legs hadn’t decided to join in the fun and started going in circles too.

It would be fine. He couldn’t hear anyone behind them. He thought he could see a landmark he recognized in the distance. They would be fine.

Assuming the king wasn’t already dead.

“I’m not dead,” his king said. He sounded - not annoyed. Like he wanted to be annoyed. “It wasn’t a fall, it was a stab wound. The thieves of Eddis don’t die from stab wounds.”

Costis wondered if that applied to thieves of Eddis who had become kings of Attolia.

His king went quiet.

Costis decided that meant he was sulking and not anything more serious. He could still see him after all, wispy and transparent on the dusty road before him.

One of them, at least, was in very serious condition. 

Costis devoutly hoped it was himself.

The king had started talking to him again. At least, he thought it was the king. He couldn’t think of anyone else who would be this annoying when he was trying to rest.

“Costis. Costis, you have to keep moving.”

Costis was leaning against one of the olive trees, he realized belatedly. It was a very comfortable olive tree, which was a strange enough thought to shake some awareness back into him.

His face ached badly enough that he wondered if someone had finally managed to drop those roof tiles on him. He hoped not. The king had tried so hard to make sure that didn’t happen, and the king sulked whenever one of his plans went awry.

“My plans always work perfectly.”

If that was true, Costis was very concerned about whatever thought process had led to this particular plan.

He couldn’t say that, though. Saying that would be doubting his king, and that would be treasonous, probably, although Costis had done worse and was still here, so maybe the king wouldn’t mind too badly.

“You can complain all you want if you keep walking. I certainly will.”

The king always complained, except when things went really wrong. If the king was complaining, things couldn’t be too bad. Not yet.

Costis gritted his teeth, repositioned his aching hands on the tree limbs he’d lashed to the pallet, and kept walking.

There were people up ahead of them. Costis wasn’t sure if this was good or bad. No matter how he squinted, he couldn’t quite make out who they were. If the world would stop moving, just for a second, maybe he would be able to tell.

“Costis. Costis, you can stop walking now. It’s alright.”

Costis went a few more steps without meaning to before stumbling to a halt. If the king said it was alright to stop, then it must be alright. Or at least part of the plan, which was not quite the same thing, but would have to be enough because as soon as Costis stopped moving, his legs decided to give up on him entirely.

He hit the dirt hard, and he let himself lay against it, just for a second before forcing himself to roll over.

He needed to be able to reach his sword. Just - just in case. They had thought the people they were going to meet would be friendly and look how that had ended - with Costis’s head in rebellion, and the king injured, and far too many guards left behind with their blood soaking into the ground.

If these people turned out not to be friendly after all, Costis would need to be able to fight.

It took all his strength just to wrap his fingers around the sword’s hilt, but that wasn’t good enough. He had to stand up -

“It’s alright, Costis. Leave your sword, you don’t need it.”

Costis always needed his sword. He needed it to protect the king, and the king needed protecting from a lot of things because there was something about the king that made even otherwise very sensible people want to punch him. 

“Thank you, Costis,” his king said dryly, and Costis frowned because he hadn’t wanted his king to hear that.

He was a good king. A brilliant king. It was just that sometimes it seemed like he actually wanted people to punch him, and sometimes that was because it was part of his plan, and sometimes Costis thought it had something to do with the differences between thieves and kings and what people thought of them, but that was a tricky thought to hold onto when his head was still spinning like this, so he let it go.

There was someone in front of him now. It looked like Aris, and that was good, because Aris was one of the very most practical people he knew, and he would certainly not punch the king.

“Aris,” he said, just to test it, to make sure this was actually Aris and not just a hallucinatory guard sent to protect his hallucinatory king.

“I’m here,” his friend assured him, and then there were hands wiping away all the blood that was smeared across his forehead, so he thought Aris was probably telling the truth. 

“The king.” That was the important thing. The only thing.

“The king is fine,” Aris said, but he didn’t even look up to check, and Costis frowned.

“He hasn’t complained,” he realized. “Not for . . .” He gave up. “A while. Even though he promised he would.”

He wasn’t sure if Aris realized the full significance of this. The world had started spinning again, and Aris’s face had gotten caught up in it.

“I’ll complain later,” his king promised. “When you wake up.”

That seemed reasonable enough.

Costis closed his eyes.

When he woke up, the world had stopped spinning, but the king had apparently lied because he was not, in fact, complaining.

Instead, he was telling a story.

Costis caught only the very tail end of it, which was a shame. He turned his head on the thin pillow, careful of the lingering ache, so that he could see for himself.

The king was sitting on a stool next to Costis’s cot. Given what Costis could see of his condition, he rather doubted this had been approved by anyone concerned by the king’s health, but the light was dim enough that it was hard to be sure.

Although if the light was that dim, that might be another argument in favor of the king sneaking past his keepers to do as he pleased regardless of his condition.

“My king,” he said. It came out as more of a croak.

The king stopped his quiet narration and turned to Costis with every appearance of delight. “And he awakens at last! They were all beginning to despair of you.”

“How long?” he asked, but the king waved this off.

“A few days. No more.” The king picked at the edges of one of his bandages. 

“Are you well?”

“I have a terrible ache in my back, which I have been reliably assured is little more than a mess of bruises.” A definite hint of a whine had entered his king’s voice. “Apparently, I was dragged over an unholy amount of ground a few days ago.”

Costis winced. “I am sorry - “

The king raised an eyebrow. “For dragging my unconscious body away from an ambush? I certainly hope you are not.”

Unconscious.

“Were you unconscious . . . the whole way?” he asked, suddenly uncertain.

The king tilted his head. “It’s hard to be certain,” he finally decided. “I certainly had strange dreams. In one of them someone was telling me I was still needed, and I think in another of them you wanted to punch me again.”

Costis coughed. “Very strange dreams,” he agreed.

It still did not quite explain why he had seen the king in front of him, but then, he had taken a very hard knock on the head.

And even if it were otherwise . . . He had seen inexplicable things in the king’s presence before. He thought he probably would again.

In the meantime, it was probably best to leave the matter at that, especially when the king was so kindly offering him a cup of water.


End file.
